


Doesn't Make it Right

by dcrthkenobi (galakticfinn)



Series: An Imperial Pilot (In the Rebellion) [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Rogue One, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galakticfinn/pseuds/dcrthkenobi
Summary: Bodhi flinched violently when he heard an all too familiar sound. The gasping and wheezing of a Rebel soldier struggling for breath before an oxygen mask was affixed to their face. And then the breathing became regular, less labored.
Sequel to Expendable





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because I needed to address the fact that Bodhi was traumatized in my other fic

They’d managed to get off of Scarif – some of them, so few of them, not enough of them. Now they were in the medical bay of an Alliance cruiser, the sounds of wounded and suffering ground soldiers filled the room – one of them was Bodhi, he was covered in burns and bacta patches. He’d managed to escape _Rogue One_ before it exploded, but he hadn’t been able to escape the burns.

He was surprised he even survived at all. He still couldn’t believe that the Alliance hadn’t abandoned them on the surface of Scarif. The Empire would have left them behind to die. But this wasn’t the Empire and they hadn’t been abandoned. The Alliance tried to save as many of their comrades as they could before the Death Star arrived – but they were forced to leave the rest before it was too late.

Bodhi’s heart lurched at the thought of those who hadn’t been rescued. The fear that they must have felt – seeing Alliance personnel gathering the wounded, hoping that they would be found and rescued, only to be left behind. He remembered the fear he had felt on Jedha when the Death Star destroyed the city, but at least then they’d been on a ship and there was hope for survival. Those people on the planet didn’t have hope, could only watched as death raced toward them.

Logically, Bodhi understood. It was war. You can’t save everybody. But he still felt himself wondering why it was him that survived while so many others hadn’t. People that had devoted their entire _lives_ to the fight against the Empire had died while he – who had only defected from the Empire a handful of days ago – had survived. It didn’t seem fair.

Bodhi flinched violently when he heard an all too familiar sound. The gasping and wheezing of a Rebel soldier struggling for breath before an oxygen mask was affixed to their face. And then the breathing became regular, less labored.

It wasn’t the same. Bodhi could see that it wasn’t _him._ This was an ally -  a friend – but Bodhi’s mind couldn’t differentiate between the two. And it was like he was back there again: clawing at his throat, trying to breathe while _he_ stood menacingly above him – breathing steadily through that mask.

_That mask. That mask. That kriffing mask._

Then it happened again. Another soldier, another mask, more sounds of assisted breathing. He was surrounded and he couldn’t get away. He was going to die. Lord Vader was here to kill him. He jerked his arm out of the grasp of a nurse and scrambled away. His own breathing was harsh, his heart rate spiking, his vision tunneling. He gulped desperately for air.

A hand touched him, he tensed – ready to jerk away if he needed to – but the hand was gentle. The touch was light and so different from the contact that he was used too. Where he was used to rough treatment, the presence beside him was friendly and soft.

“Hey. Everything’s okay now. You’re safe.”

Bodhi shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. “ _No. no. no. no. no.”_ he gasped out, still struggling to breath. “He’s choking me. I’m dying. And the _breathing._ The breathing. Always there. It’s always there.”

Cassian looked around the room, looking for what had triggered this response from Bodhi. He recognized what was happening. _Breathing?_ His eyes landed on the Rebel soldiers who were breathing through oxygen masks.

_Oh._

Cassian led Bodhi from the room and into the hallway. He stopped in a secluded section of the ship where the only sound was their breathing – Cassian’s steady and calm, Bodhi’s short and harsh. He pulled Bodhi against his chest, threading his fingers through Bodhi’s loose hair when he didn’t resist.

“Focus on me, Bodhi. Focus on my breathing.”

Bodhi wrapped his arms around Cassian, grabbing the fabric of Cassian’s shirt into his fists. He buried his face against Cassian’s neck as he sobbed. His body was still trembling against Cassian’s. Cassian rubbed Bodhi’s back soothingly.

“He killed my co-pilot,” Bodhi said brokenly, once he was calm enough. “W-we lost our shipment. He was choking me, because I w-was the pilot. But then my co-pilot took the blame. And I… _I let them be killed._ I kept quiet when I shouldn’t have.”

“He would have killed you both if you had said something.”

“That doesn’t make it _right_.” Bodhi whispered.

“It never does.” Cassian closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Thinking about the things that he’d done – the people that had died for him or because of him. It was never right and the pain never went away.


End file.
